


A Language Never Learned

by MissCrazyWriter321



Category: The Walking Dead (TV)
Genre: Angst with a Happy Ending, Drama, F/M, Hurt/Comfort, Love Confessions, Not Spoiler-free, Referenced canon abuse, speculation fic
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-01-09
Updated: 2020-01-09
Packaged: 2021-02-27 11:15:26
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,257
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22186204
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MissCrazyWriter321/pseuds/MissCrazyWriter321
Summary: There it is. Out there in words, utterly jumbled but impossible to misunderstand. He shoves his hands in his pockets, ducks his head, and waits.
Relationships: Daryl Dixon/Carol Peletier
Comments: 10
Kudos: 55





	A Language Never Learned

**Author's Note:**

> Hey, everyone! This is mostly speculation based on the promos for the second part of the season. I had a lot of fun writing from Daryl's perspective; his inner monologue is so different from any other character I've ever written!   
> Typical disclaimers apply.

“You could have died!” He’s trembling, and he hates it. But all he can see is that hoard of walkers closing in on her, and the moment of hesitation before she took his hand. It won’t stop circling around his brain, and he wants to scream. 

She doesn’t back down. Of course not. Woman hasn’t backed down in years. “Well, I didn’t.” She crosses her arms. “So I don’t see why-”

“‘Course not.” Would shaking her be too much? (He couldn’t do it, not really, but he doesn’t know how else to get through to her.) “Of course you can’t, ‘cause you’re so mad at the world that you can’t even  _ think  _ someone might care about you.” 

This throws her, briefly. He can see it in the way she blinks, the way she straightens her shoulders. “Of course you… Care about me,” she says, but it sounds more like a question. “But if you lost me, you-”

“I ain’t gonna lose you.” His throat is already too tight, unwelcome images of a future without her, a future alone, closing in on him.  _ You’ll be the last man standing.  _ Time was, that would have been the best-case scenario, but now… “Not again. So just stop it.” 

She watches him too carefully, as if he’s said more than he meant to. Knowing her, he probably has. 

“Anyway,” he mutters, studying the patterns of his hands, “I gotta go. Dinner.” 

Her hand settles on his arm, and he hates the way it freezes him in place. Her touch is feather-light, and pulling away should be easy, but he knows that he’s no more likely to do that than he is to take up salsa dancing. 

“Daryl.” Her voice is too knowing. “What is this?” 

He doesn’t  _ know.  _ That’s the thing. There are words on the tip of his tongue-powerful, dramatic words that he has mocked more times than he’s said them-but what if they’re wrong? Not like he has a whole lot of experience with this, and-and it’s  _ Carol,  _ she deserves the best, and that’s not him, it can’t be, but Ezekial's dead, and  _ he's _ here, and-

“Daryl?”

Something about her steadies him, always does, but it doesn’t mean he’s any closer to his answer. Even if those words are true-and he’s still not sure they’re the right ones-he doesn’t have a clue how to say them. He was never much good at forgeign languages anyway, and this one might as well be Greek. It’s-she’s-he  _ needs  _ her. It’s as simple as that. (Not like he knows how to say that, either. He called her his best friend once, and it’s true, it  _ is,  _ but that’s not  _ it. _ ) 

She sighs, releasing him without warning. “Do you want me to pass you a note?” She sounds tired, and he hates this, hates that he has pushed this to the surface now. It’s the last thing she needs. 

When he still doesn’t respond, she shakes her head, and turns to walk away. Panic wells up in him, and words slip out without warning. 

“Never did that.”

She freezes. “What?” 

This definitely isn’t the way he wants to say this, whatever  _ this  _ is, but it’s what he’s got. “Never passed anyone a note. The other kids in grade school, they’d write those little notes. ‘Do you like me? Check yes or no?’ That kind of thing.” He shrugs. “Never did that. Was always too worried about where my next meal was coming from. Or my next beating.” 

She doesn’t turn back, but he can feel her listening, and it gives him the courage to keep going. 

“And when I got older… Never did any of that. Never took a girl to the movies… I sure never went to prom. Just wasn’t my life.” 

Finally, finally, she turns back. He’s normally pretty good at reading her, but this face? He doesn’t have a clue what it means. Is it good? Bad? Disgusted? 

(He can still see his classmates in his mind’s eye, even with all these years as a buffer. He can still hear their voices, taunting, laughing. “Daryl likes you!” They’d say, if they really wanted to upset a girl. 

It always worked.) 

“And now?” Soft. Steady. 

He swallows. Now that he’s here, he still doesn’t know how to say it. But he has to figure it out. 

“Now…” He cannot meet her eyes. Yet another thing he cannot give her. “I don’t have a clue. And you…”

“Me?” How she can muster so much patience, he has no idea. 

It comes out in a rush, but he means every word. “You’ve already had one selfish jerk who didn’t know how to treat ya. Don’t deserve another one.” 

There it is. Out there in words, utterly jumbled but impossible to misunderstand. He shoves his hands in his pockets, ducks his head, and waits. The ground, he decides, is real interesting. People should look at it more. The rock by his foot is shaped almost like a bunny, or a shotgun. Either way, it’s cool, and definitely what he needs to be looking at right now. 

She catches his shoulders under her palms. “Don’t.” There’s a ferocious undercurrent to her words that forces him to look up. “Don’t you dare act like that’s the same thing.” 

“Course it’s not, but-”

“No. No ‘but’s.” 

Fine, then. He nods sharply, and she exhales. 

“Good.” She squeezes his shoulders once. “Now. Daryl, do you love me?”

_ Love.  _ There’s the word, and it’s right and wrong all at once. He still doesn’t know how to use it, how to say it, how to even  _ think  _ it properly. Old instincts well up, and for a split-second, he lets himself imagine shoving her away. Running as far away as he can, without looking back. 

But running would hurt her.  _ Not an option.  _ So, what? Does he say it? Pretty much has already, right? His throat's real tight, though, and he still can't shake the feeling that he's got this all wrong. 

"I-" 

"Yes or no, Daryl?" She doesn't give him an inch. Never has. It's one of the many things he-

"Yeah." 

He loves her.

They both breathe out, and she studies him, a smile tugging at her lips. She's happy. That's good, at least. He wants her to be happy. She's had enough stuff in her life that wasn't happy. Still, it'd be nice if she'd say something. Or do something. Anything, really. He's already done all he knows how to do and more, so she's gonna have to take the lead on this. 

Images flicker through his mind, of her grabbing him like they're in one of those dumb movies, kissing him senseless. And it's-it's not that kissing her doesn't sound good, but he can't do this, not right now, it's already way too much, and-

She doesn't kiss him. She just gives him a warm smile and holds out her hand. "Good, because I love you too," she says matter-of-factly, because of course  _ she  _ doesn't stumble on the words. Even after everything she's been through, love is still her native language, in a way he may never understand. "Now, come on. Let's go get some dinner." 

They should probably talk more. Or something. He isn't sure what, but he knows love confessions are supposed to be a little more eventful. That's what he's always heard, anyway. 

But this feels  _ right,  _ and most things in his life don't. So he takes her offered hand, and follows her back to camp. 

If anyone notices, they're too smart to say anything. 

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you so much for reading, and I hope you enjoyed! This was my first Walking Dead fanfic, so I'm a little nervous, but I think I'm happy with how it turned out.


End file.
